Judgment
by MarsMonster
Summary: Do we always get what we want? What we deserve? Luke Castellan's trial answers that question.


**Judgment**

Luke was waiting.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. For who knows how long. Being possessed by Kronos had messed with his head.

Luke was being judged.

Well, that wasn't new. He was always being judged. Judged in his quest, at camp, even as Kronos' pawn.

But now…it mattered. This would decide how he would spend the rest of eternity…in agonizing pain or in a beautiful, care-free paradise.

Luke was surprised.

Surprised that he had to wait so long, surprised that he even needed to be judged when his father had promised him Elysium. But deep down, he wasn't surprised that this promise might not be kept.

Luke was waiting.

* * *

><p>"Yes, Luke, I know you've been waiting for a while. But you have no need to worry; I'm sure you'll get into Elysium and be able to try for the Isles…" Luke listened to his father talk, hearing noises but not being able to process them. Ever since his "heroic death" he had gotten closer to his father, the Wayfinder, the one who escorted the souls of the dead into the Underworld.<p>

His father had not been the only visitor. Percy and Annabeth came to his waiting room every…hmm, that was odd, he couldn't remember. He knew it was often, though.

Luke gazed out of the window, entranced by the open sea. When he had been asked how he wanted his waiting room, his mind instantly chose the stateroom off of the terrible ship, only this one was filled with beauty and tranquility, with no trace of evil in its sacred walls.

The windows, sparkling with a diamond-like luminance, curved out on the back wall of the room. The view was incredible as always, looking out on the brilliant cerulean sea. The sky was the type of deep, radiant blue that cannot be described, only seen on the sunniest of days.

Luke, still spellbound by the sight of the ocean, was thinking of nothing. This was the best time for him, looking out on something beautiful and being completely at peace, untroubled by the thoughts of the future and the past.

"—Luke? Are you even listening to me?" Hermes frowned at his son.

"Yeah dad, I hear you. I think it's best if you leave now, I need some time to think."

It was always the same. The same faces, the same conversations, the same pity. Luke was tired of the pity. He just wanted to lie down and sleep for eternity. He wanted his soul to be free to roam the universe.

_But do we always get what we want?_ he thought._ What we deserve?_

What one wants and what one deserves are two different things entirely, Luke realized. Did he want freedom? Yes. Did he deserve freedom? That was where it got complicated. Perhaps he could be forgiven for all his misdeeds. But Luke was starting to question the purpose of life and death. Being completely honest with himself, he didn't know if he even wanted to be in Elysium.

"Don't worry Luke. Everything will be okay." Percy, Annabeth, Chiron, he didn't know who. The faces were blending together.

"I know." He tried to crack a smile.

All anyone would ever talk about was the trial, as if he wasn't already thinking about it 24/7, worrying about it, working out every insane thread of possibility and how it would end. You would think that with all the pity, sympathy and empathy people would be more sensitive about it, but his living companion's definitions of those words included trying over and over to make him feel better. Which wasn't working, obviously.

The trial was soon, they told him. Soon he would be happy, they said, as if they knew what they were talking about. Soon he would be free, they promised.

It was a funny thing, the concept of freedom. Mortals say the only way to be truly free is in death, unattached to the material world. But if they knew what life after death really was like, what would they say? Freedom was relative, he decided. Freedom is whatever one wants it to be. Only that person can decide when they are free, for even in his death he was imprisoned, stuck in one place. Would he ever get to decide his own life?

* * *

><p>The trial was upon him. According to <em>Olympus Weekly<em>, his trial was going to be the most watched, discussed, and controversial judgment in the history of Olympus. But Luke wasn't thinking about that.

He was thinking about a conversation he had with Ethan Nakamura before the big invasion of Manhattan. It had taken place in one of the rare moments when Kronos wasn't in complete control and Luke had been able to act like a normal demigod.

He and Ethan were discussing their godly parents. Ethan had said, "My mom told me that the world counts on balance, on temperance. The line isn't between right and wrong, or even chaos and harmony, but between what is needed and what can be done away with. The extremes must be avoided, only the middle path is the right one. In the end, everything is balanced, no matter how high the price."

For whatever reason, this concept of balance had stuck in his mind, the words repeating in his head like a mantra. The middle path. Balance. Middle path. Balance.

Although Luke could not foresee what was going to happen to him, he was calm. Maybe the trial would give him his freedom, in one way or the other. He only wanted to be free of the burden of life and death—to get out of the labyrinth of suffering, so to speak.

Because of his trial's importance, he had been allowed to skip the line (which was why he had the waiting room in the first place—it had never been done before). The tent where the trials were usually held had to be enlarged and refitted because of the number of people (mortal, immortal and otherwise) who were going to be there.

Luke sighed and ran his hand through his hair, pausing to look at his palm. It held a faint translucence to it, as if his color, his soul, was slowly flowing away. He frowned, stuffing his hands in his pocket, and followed his dad into the courtroom.

Inside the tent looked almost exactly like the regular American courtroom, except here there was a longer judge's bench to seat the three judges who would conduct the trial. Large paintings of the gods (mostly Hades and Persephone, plus a few of Cerberus) covered the walls and statues of the goddess of justice, Themis, were placed by each door.

Due to the special circumstances of his trial, Luke knew that the three judges were not randomly selected but were specifically chosen to preside over the judging, ensuring a 100% fair trial. The judges would also be calling in people to testify and give their opinions, but the final decision would be up to the judges.

Luke sat down with his father behind the assigned table and waited for the three arbitrators to arrive. As if on cue, when the double doors closed the three judges stepped out of the judge's quarters and stood in front of the courtroom.

He didn't know if he should be worried about the choice of judges. The three that were chosen were quite secretive, his father had told him.

Standing in front of him were Socrates, Cleopatra, and Niccolo Machiavelli. The three of them had a look of mysteriousness to them, as well as a hint of superiority.

As they took their seats, Cleopatra looked towards Luke and gave a sly wink. He stared back at her, confused, but she smirked and called the courtroom to attention.

"This is the case of Luke Castellan against his deeds, actions, and thoughts. We the judges are here to listen, ask, and when the time comes, we will make our decision. To start us off, we will have a basic reading of Luke's life."

She brought out a long piece of paper and began to read it. As Luke sat there with a blank look on his face, he remembered all the details as they were recounted; all the destruction he had orchestrated, all the deaths he had caused.

But still, he thought of the good times he had on the run with Thalia and Annabeth, which seemed like the only time in his life (and death) where he was able to do what he wanted.

Cleopatra ended at Luke's final sacrifice at Mount Olympus and sat back down. Machiavelli then stood up and proclaimed that they would bring in people to testify for or against Luke. The first one brought in was Percy.

Sitting in the small area, Percy looked vaguely uncomfortable. It was Socrates who went to question him.

Socrates was dressed in the clothing of his time. His tunic was a pure white with a belt of green and blue stones, and his sandals were laced up to just under his knee. His hair and beard were a light gray, as if a tangled, knotted blanket of the deepest black had been sprinkled with a light dusting of snow.

"Mister Jackson, do you believe that Luke deserves Elysium?" he began.

"Yes, I do, he was a good person," Percy replied.

"A good person, eh? What exactly makes a person good?"

"Well, um, they have to have a conscience. And they have to know right from wrong, and they have to know what it is they have to do to make things right, like Luke did."

"So you believe, based on your description, that Luke should be rewarded for his deeds even if he did many evil and despicable things?" Socrates said thoughtfully.

"Yes, even if he did those bad things he sacrificed his own life to set things right," Percy countered.

"His life was worth more than all the ones who died because of him?"

"No, I didn't say that, I-"

"But that's what you implied, because he killed himself, it's okay that he killed those people."

Percy frowned. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all. Even though those people died, by sacrificing himself he saved much more people from dying."

Socrates nodded and dismissed him, calling in Annabeth. Her questioning was almost exactly like Percy's, except with each question she was quite obviously getting angrier and angrier. Finally, when it looked like she was about to explode with frustration, Socrates dismissed her. Every person he called in—Chiron, Rachel, even his dad—all said the same thing Percy said.

Until Ethan was called in.

Luke gaped at him, eyes and mouth wide open. Ethan stared back, a cold, hard look in his eyes.

Ethan took a seat. "Has anyone here ever heard of the golden mean?"

Socrates was taken aback. "What?"

"The golden mean, you know, us Greeks thought of it?" When Socrates did not answer, Ethan continued, "The golden mean is a middle path, of sorts. It is the desirable outcome between the two extremes. We have two extremes, don't we? Well, do we need to choose between them? That is the question I leave you with." And in less time it takes for the River Lethe to wipe one's memories, he was gone.

The courtroom was eerily silent. Machiavelli stood up and cleared his throat. Before he could speak, Cleopatra interrupted him with "We need not discuss anymore. We are decided, yes?"

Machiavelli looked at her with anger in his eyes. "No, not yet, my _dear_. We have yet to discuss all the possibilities." Looking around the courtroom, his eyes stopped on Luke and he gave him a small, mischievous smile. His legs began pacing the length of the floor, his long arms crossed, and his suit a dark grey with not a thread out of place. As impeccable as he looked, there was still a faint frailness about his color, and it seemed if one tried hard enough, one would be able to see right through him.

Machiavelli stood still and clasped his hands in front of this chest, taking a moment to ponder his argument. He began his speech with, "Luke Castellan had a strange, double-sided life. He was a good person, but his anger and distrust towards the gods caused him to do these evil, sinful things. But his final sacrifice, in my opinion, overpasses the evil that he committed while he was alive. You are all familiar with my most famous line, yes? If not, here it is: 'The end justifies the means.'"

Cleopatra rolled her eyes and gave a loud sigh.

Glaring at her again, he continued, "Luke surrendered his mortal life to ensure Kronos's death—and it worked. Luke prevented the deaths of millions of more people. To get to the point he needed to, he needed to go on his own path. Who knows what would have happened if the Fates wrote his destiny differently? No one, and because of his sacrifice, Luke is definitely a hero."

Machiavelli sat down with a smug look on his face, as if he was asking anyone to defy him. Responding to his challenge, Socrates stood up.

"Luke Castellan caused the death of countless people. Is the number in the hundreds? The thousands? We don't know. But we cannot look at the situation in a way like, 'Oh, he killed thousands of people but by killing himself he saved so many more.' Those people's lives meant something, didn't they? They were not just mortals, they were demigods and nymphs and satyrs and so much more. We don't know if he was the only choice we had at defeating Kronos. Something else could have stopped him if Luke made the wrong choice. So no, Luke does not deserve to achieve Elysium."

When he took his seat once again, Cleopatra stood once again. She turned a musing eye out on the two judges before her, and on the audience, skipping over Luke. Her body turned, her outfit making faint swishing and tinkling sounds.

Cleopatra was dressed in a luxurious golden-threaded tunic embossed with threads of blood red. Her face was framed by shoulder-length, jet black hair that was covered in a net of soft chiming bells. Her eyes were lined with the darkest Egyptian kohl and her dark red lipstain matched the red on her tunic and on the crimson belt that hung from just below her bellybutton. The belt was also covered in golden bells.

"If you don't know much about my mortal life, I will give you some information. I was in love with both Julius Caesar and Mark Antony, and both of these ended with death; first Julius was killed, then both I and my beloved Antony took our own lives. My only two options were suicide or surrender. Luke's choices are Elysium or the Fields. But I ask you, does he deserve either of those things? It is arguable in both ways. But I propose to give him another choice. I say we give him the 'golden mean' of the two extremes. I say he deserves Asphodel."

The courtroom was abuzz with shocked mutterings and whisperings.

Luke couldn't believe what he was hearing. Asphodel? Was that even allowed? It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't—but it was. Luke had been both good and bad. It made perfect sense.

His stomach sank. Luke lost hope.

_Damn you, Ethan, _Luke thought bitterly to himself. _Damn you to hell_.

Luke smiled a grim, bleak smile. _But he's already there. And soon I'll be there too._

Luke felt himself give up. He sat through the rest of the proceeding, uncaring, unchanging. He didn't react when the judges started screaming at each other, or when Socrates sided with Cleopatra, giving her case a two to one lead.

He didn't even blink when the case was turned over to Hades and he, to no one's surprise, saw nothing wrong with it.

Luke smiled again. It was a day of firsts, and now lasts.

Hermes could not take it anymore. He leapt up, shaking his staff and screaming his godly head off, but to no avail. Luke's sentence was decided.

Cleopatra stood in front of Luke for the last time, her figure striking and voice booming. "I, Cleopatra VII, along with Niccolo Machiavelli and Socrates, by the power given to us from the Twelve High Olympians and Lord Hades, decree that Luke will spend the rest of his days wandering the forlorn, gods-forsaken fields of Asphodel. Hearing dismissed."

* * *

><p>Luke was running. Running, running, running. Who knows how far? His life was over—no, that's not right, his life was already over. Now his death was over too.<p>

He glided through the Fields where he would spend the rest of eternity, the desperate look about him clearing a path through all the dead. A chilling thought grabbed hold of his mind—what if these souls were people he knew? What if these were people he had _killed_?

No, not possible, it wasn't possible, it couldn't be true. Everyone would have gone to Elysium.

Everyone except him, that is.

Luke was searching.

The Fields ended—hours, minutes, seconds ago. He looked for the one thing that could save his tortured mind.

He saw a light at the end of the tunnel, and he took it. That was him, always taking the easy way out. But soon it would end.

Luke was saved.

He saw his liberator, his knight in shining armor, and put on a final burst of speed he didn't know his ghostly legs could endure. Soon it would end, it would be over, and he would be done with everything and just by himself! Yes, soon!

Wait…what was that behind him? He turned his head and screamed silently.

Three figures were closing in on him from the distance…and closing in fast.

But they would be too late, he realized with glee. Too late, too late! He was almost there!

The figures were shouting now, shouting for him to stop. To no avail, they were too late!

_Over that last hill,_ Luke promised himself. _I'm almost there._

And in the final act of Luke Castellan's life and death, he catapulted over that final hill and dove, headfirst, into the blazing waters of the River Lethe.

Luke was saved.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading! This is a oneshot, so don't expect anymore. If you took the time to read the entire thing, please drop me a review so I can hear what you guys thought of it.<br>**


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